


Licensed For Freedom

by Pancakesandbooks



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Dream Sex, F/M, Forced Orgasm, I Don't Even Know, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Non-Consensual Touching, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Violence, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29294250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pancakesandbooks/pseuds/Pancakesandbooks
Summary: Takes place after S02E04. CONTAINS SPOILERSMartin is still hung up on his search for freedom.I am not sure where this will take us, probably some place sinister. Hang tight for updates.
Relationships: Martin Whitly/Original Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 30





	1. Pilot chapter.

Martin was eventually escorted back to his cell, patiently waiting for Mr David to remove his shackles. He had his hands high on the wall, staring intently at one spot. He knew that spot. He could picture it clearly with his eyes closed. In fact he could picture the entire wall with his eyes closed. What he could also picture was the small card he had managed to sneak out right under the nose of every one. It was currently pressing into the small of his back. He could feel it when he moved, the edges scraping his skin slightly. He felt rather clever, should he say so himself. 

He had managed to have access to two gold keycards in the hours preceding the capture of Rhonda Young. Malcolm had taken one of them, believing it to be the only one his father possessed. Martin had been extremely careful with his demeanor around his son, going so far as to send lingering looks on the card Malcolm had taken from him, acting delighted at their achievement in solving the case, but also showing signs of abject disappointment at having lost his only apparent key to freedom. 

Martin went about his day as usual, for now waiting patiently for the right opportunity. For once he hoped that Malcolm would not visit him, since he would most definitely pick up the signs of Martin being on edge. Martin chuckled softly. The boy was far too clever for his own good. 

As he was unshackled Martin glanced sideways and noticed a female guard for the first time. She was new. He casually noted her attractive appearance. She was pretty, if a little skittish at the moment. Her soft brown hair was braided, golden highlights just visible through the plaid. Her starkly blue eyes were overshadowed by long dark lashes, and a fairly sharp nose and a pouty mouth set off her face like one of those old paintings. She was doing her best to shield behind Mr David, nonetheless, their eyes met for the briefest of seconds. Martin gave her a wolfish grin, and her eyes widened sharply. She reflexively clutched onto her gun, then gathered herself, realising that Martin was still chained to the wall. She frowned somewhat, knowing she had made a mistake.

He nearly chuckled at her reaction. 

He liked her already.


	2. Of Gods and Guardians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter for this story. I'm still figuring out where to go with it. We shall see.   
> Hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Martin sat reading, his mind frequently wandering to the golden ticket to freedom. He had stashed it away in one of his journals, feeling quite secure in the safety of it. He was enjoying the silence, when Mr David began to open the door. 

“Phone for you, Dr. Whitly,” He said, pushing the familiar cart into the room.

Martin barely heard. He instantly noticed the new guard shuffling in behind Mr David. His eyes fixed on the young woman as keenly as a heat seeking missile. 

“Aahh, Mr David, you have failed to introduce the new guard,” he noted, his voice sounding delighted, barely registering the note of deep curiosity beneath. 

Mr. David glanced at the new guard as if he only just noticed her. Martin was the only one who noticed the woman's face change in colour. She was suddenly the same colour as his breakfast porridge; pale grey.

“This is Ms Wright. She is gonna be supervising you once in a while. She’s here to get the feel of things, and get to know you. Now be nice Martin,” Mr David admonished. 

"Oh, you know me, Mr David. I'm a pussycat." Martin gave a cheshire cat grin and almost felt like extending his hand to the new guard. 

“Ms Wright,” he said, tasting the name on his tongue. 

“Welcome. You certainly look like a guardian angel. I am a lucky man." He nodded at her politely. Or as politely as a serial killer could nod. He may have had a slightly manic smile on his lips. The young woman gulped at him, clearly not accustomed to dealing with his kind. Nonetheless, she seemed to steel herself.

“Thank you,” she said softly. 

Her voice was quite throaty. It was one of those phenomenons he had always wanted to investigate. It would be interesting to cut her open and see what exactly made her voice like hers. Was her larynx shaped a little differently than people with higher pitched voices? He saw it clearly in his mind as he observed her. 

“Dr Whitly. There is still a phone for you,” Mr David said. 

Still smiling softly, Martin turned towards the cart. 

“Dr. Whitly speaking,” he said, his eyes flashing towards Ms Wright. She had acquired a pinkish tinge around her throat. He felt like placing his fingers around it, just to sense the sudden shift in temperature on her skin. He was quite certain her skin would be silky too. It had been so long since he had stroked the soft skin of a woman. 

He turned his attention to the call. It was a consultation call about a patient who had been shot in the head. 

As Martin went through the medical frases he kept his eyes on the young woman by the door. She only glanced up a few times, catching his eyes as he spoke. He gave her a winning smile at those occasions, bathing her in all his charm. She didn't smile back, instead she bit her lip, staring dutifully at the ground. 

Eventually the call ended, and Martin was left to his own devices again as the two guards left. 

That was fine by him. He needed time to think about his plans for escape, and  _ she _ was certainly becoming quite the distraction to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo sorry for the short chapter! I am sick at the moment, and I feel utterly exhausted. So I can only write in short bursts.   
> I had to call in sick for work, which sucks. I also had to take a COVID test, which also sucked. Hopefully it is negative.   
> I will try to write some more during the day, but I can't promise anything. *Wink*  
> -Pancakes


	3. Smiles In The Guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, my lovely readers!   
> So here's the third chapter in this story.  
> Beware, Martin gets a little dark here.   
> Warnings of non-consenting touching apply! Read with care.

Martin had finally managed to find an escape route. He had done it! Now he just needed to act. A part of him was sad to leave this place behind. This was mostly because he of course would lose the only opportunity of contact he could ever have with his children. It was a bitter choice to make. His freedom for his children. But he had no choice. Damned if he would stay here and die. He had to get out. Once he got out, he would never be able to see them again, it was a sadness, but he thought that that was a price he would have to be willing to pay. 

He had also thought about where he should go. It had been many years ago now, but he had acquired a cabin in secrecy, it should still be there. He had made sure there was no one who knew of it, no paper trail was left behind. It was just a question of getting there. He needed a car to do it. He could steal one of course. That might be his best bet for now. 

He had decided on doing it on Friday. There were fewer personnel on Fridays, and he could easily lose himself in the weekend crowd. Now he only had to wait. 

* * *

Martin stood in the elevator, leaning against the slightly vibrating wall as it hummed downwards. His eyes were closed and he was sweating profusely. He had put his plan in motion, and he only had a few minutes until his absence would be noticed. This particular elevator would take him to the garage in the basement. He was clutching the key card with slightly fevered fingers, waiting anxiously for the lift to reach his destination.

Suddenly the elevator dinged and the carriage ground to a halt. His heart skipped a beat. It was too soon. He couldn't be in the basement yet. Someone had stopped the elevator. The doors began to slide open as if in slow motion. Martin reacted on instinct, hastily stepping forward in an offence stance, intending to punch whoever stood in front of the doors. 

He froze. It was _her_. His new guard stood wide eyed in front of him, her face blank with shock. None of them spoke. 

The elevator dinged again, and Martin grabbed her wrist on instinct, yanking her into the elevator, easily pinning her face first against the wall. She was so petite, she was no match for his tall frame. She had uttered no sounds, but nonetheless, he placed a hand across her mouth, to keep her silent.

The elevator ground into motion once more. 

"Miss Wright," he murmured in a low voice, inhaling sharply. Her hair was just beneath his nose and he could smell the traces of her lavender shampoo. And something vanilla clung to her as well. 

"Fancy seeing you here," he said. She was trembling slightly. 

"I am going to remove my hand, but if you scream I will have to hurt you. Do you understand?" She whimpered softly but nodded. He slowly lifted his hand and moved it so his arm lay across her throat, his hand cupping her shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" She asked in a shaky voice.

"I will be the one asking the questions, miss Wright," he admonished gently. 

"I take it you just got off duty?" He asked her. He kept his voice low, menacing, but with a hint of his old charm. 

She nodded swiftly. 

"Do you have a car?" He asked. 

She nodded again. 

"Do you have a phone?" 

She nodded for a third time. 

"Where do you keep it?" 

"It's in my left pocket in my jeans," 

Martin slid his free right hand down her body in search of it. He was practically hugging her by now and she shuddered violently. 

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you like that," he assured her, even as his fingers found the edge of her phone, gently pulling it from her pocket. Suddenly he felt a pair of handcuffs at her belt. He grabbed those as well.

"Good, now here's what's gonna happen. You will take me to your car, and drive me out of here," he added darkly. 

He swiftly cuffed her right wrist to his left one. Just to be sure she would not make a run for it and ruin his chances of getting out.

"What are you going to do to me?" She asked. She was terrified now. He could sense it. 

"Let's not worry your pretty little head with that just yet. One step at a time, my dear," he said, just as the elevator doors pinged open. He pulled her from the wall and out into the cool air of the garage. 

"Lead the way, miss Wright," he said softly. 

* * *

She led him to the tiniest car he had ever seen. It was a Toyota Yaris. 

She glanced at their linked wrists, and frowned.

"How do you suggest we get in the car now?" She asked.

He smirked at her note of sarcasm. This was going to be fun. 

"Oh, I _imagine_ you are a bendy little thing. You can climb over the console," he said, aiming for the passenger's side. 

"Now get in," he said darkly. 

She opened the door and made to get in. 

"Hold it," he said, a sudden thought exploding into his mind. 

"I'll get in first. You could have a weapon in there," he said, licking his dry lips. 

"I don't have any weapons in my car," she protested. 

"Excuse me for not taking you at your word, miss Wright," he said sardonically. 

He sat down in the passenger's seat, swiftly searching the cars interior. No weapon. 

"Good, now get in," he said, making room for her to climb over him. 

She glared at him. 

"I'm _not_ climbing over you," she said fiercely. 

He gave her a wolfish grin. 

"You don't make the rules, Miss Wright. Now get in," he said, yanking on her cuffed hand, making her stumble forward. She braced herself against his thigh as she landed awkwardly half into the car. 

"Well, this is cozy," he said pleasantly, his deep voice trickling down her spine. 

Their faces were inches apart. They were both sweating now. She huffed indignantly and tried to clamber over him without making too much contact. Due to their cuffed hands she could only manage it by practically straddling him, facing him. She was scowling, trying to hide her embarrassment at the intimate position she found herself in with him. 

He was smirking. This was more fun than he had realised it would be. 

Paradoxically, he sensed she was getting braver with him. She was not as scared as before. Perhaps it would return once her indignation evaporated. Nonetheless, he enjoyed it immensely. 

Finally she managed to land in her seat by doing a weirdly seated pirouette in his lap. He closed the door, and indicated for her to drive. 

Within moments, they were speeding down the trafficked road, towards his freedom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts! He's interesting to write, I must admit. He's such a charming bastard. Lol!  
> -Pancakes


	4. Company Of Opportunity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings!   
> Here's another chapter. I have only just gotten, well and I thought this was my day off, but alas, another colleague has fallen victim to a case of the flu (not Corona) and I was asked to come in.   
> I wanted to write some more, but this is all I got.   
> Hope you enjoy. I have work this weekend, plus Monday, so please be patient for updates.   
> Thank you.   
> Also I feel so blessed to see all your thoughts and kind words! I truly appreciate them! 
> 
> Alright, let's not waffle on, here you go. *Wink*

"So, do you have a first name, miss Wright?" Martin asked lightly, looking at the profile of the young woman as she drove them through the streets. They had been silent for at least 15 minutes, and he found he needed to hear her talk.

She was gritting her teeth, the muscle in her jaw flexing visibly. She violently shifted the gears, the chain of their cuffed wrists jingling sinisterly. He had to keep his hand lifted so she could drive the car. 

"Well?" He urged, smiling in his usual charming way, shaking his wrist a little so as to get her attention as his motion jolted her hand slightly. 

She licked her lips.

“Laura,” she finally said softly. 

“What a lovely name, for a lovely guardian angel,” he said delightedly. 

“I am _not_ your guardian angel,” She hissed. 

“You are kidnapping me!” She added angrily. Her lower lip trembled slightly. 

Martin deflated somewhat, suddenly not so keen on her words any longer. He guessed her adrenaline levels had dropped, and she was experiencing the crash. He adjusted a little in his seat. He hadn’t thought of that. What was he going to do with her? Let her go, and she would surely make sure he was caught again. And for once he felt no inclinations to kill her. He swallowed softly, and turned to look out the windscreen. 

“Where are you going to take me?” She asked softly, breaking the tense silence. 

He glanced at her, and saw a single tear roll down her cheek. 

"Just drive north for now," he said, his eyes roaming her features, a slight frown between his brows.

“And listen, if it’s of any consolation, I had not planned on taking any prisoners. I just couldn't let you…-" he faltered, the last word getting stuck on his tongue. 

She glanced at him, shaking her head slightly. 

"Go?" she finished in a whisper. 

He stayed silent for a long moment. Perhaps he should keep her. She was certainly a breath of fresh air. Some fun was bound to come out of this. 

"Are you going to kill me?" She asked, her voice choking slightly on the last words. 

He glanced at her again. 

"I haven't decided yet," he said, not at all truthfully. He knew he wasn't going to kill her. 

She gave a small sob, her fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. 

"Why don't you tell me of yourself a bit?" He asked, trying and failing to sound cheerful. 

Her right hand had fallen into her lap, as she drove. Clearly a habit of hers. His hand, cuffed to hers, was resting against the outer edge of her thigh, the chain spanning the space of the soft flesh between their linked hands. She didn't seem to notice, and he felt grateful for the feel of warm flesh against his fingers. He had to constantly focus on not stroking her. It was so tempting. 

Oh yes, he could definitely keep her. For now. 

"How old are you?" He asked casually. 

"27," she answered, not looking at him.

"Do you live alone?" He was trying to turn the conversation away from the elephant in the car. 

"No," she said darkly. 

"Oh," he said, his voice suddenly crestfallen.

"My father lives with me," she explained. 

"Oh?" He managed, suddenly sounding hopeful again. 

"He's been living with me since my mother died, almost three years ago now," she said. 

"How wonderful," he said, delighted at the thought of her taking care of her father. 

"Not really," she countered darkly. 

Martin gave a glance. 

"Really?" He said, not certain what to expect. 

"No, he's an asshole," she elaborated.

Then she glanced at him. 

"Though I'm pretty sure he's not a serial killer," she added scornfully, glowering at the road ahead. 

"Well, give it time," Martin said, smirking darkly. 

She didn't answer. They had reached the outskirts of the city, now only seeing desolate roads ahead. 

They had quite a way to go. He was hungry. He knew they couldn't stop for food. He glanced down at his prison scrubs and knew he was as conspicuous as a cherry perched atop a mountain of whipped cream. Food would have to wait. If he was lucky, the cabin he had purchased was untarnished. He had spent no inconsiderable amount of money on securing its safety. He had plenty of money stashed away too. Once they arrived, he would get what he needed. 

For the time being, he relaxed a little in his seat, enjoying the feel of the young woman's warm leg against his hand.

* * *

"Do you even have a plan?" She suddenly spat into the muffled drum of the car's engine.

He turned to look at her. She was scowling at the road. 

"I do," he answered briskly. 

"Granted it did not involve you, but I am certainly pleased to have your company," he added, smiling at her. She sent him a withering look that made him falter again. 

It didn't take genius to decipher that she was less than pleased to be there. He frowned. There was nothing he could do about it now though. He could of course leave her on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, but it was cold out, she would surely freeze before she reached any help. Besides, he had to admit it to himself. He didn't want to lose her company. Not yet at least. He had felt the attraction between them from the hours spent together in his cell. He knew she was smart and funny, even though shy. Taking her with him had been an impulse. He could easily have rendered her unconscious, leaving her safe and sound behind. 

He had just not been able to. Especially after having her petite frame pinned between him and the wall of the elevator. He could still smell her. She had enticed his baser urges faster than anyone he had ever met. He had even felt a stirring between his legs, and that had surprised him. It had repeated as she had basically straddled him while she was getting into the car with him.

"You know I will just try and run as soon as the opportunity presents itself, right?" She muttered darkly. 

"You can't keep me chained to you forever," she added.

He smiled indulgently.

He knew his actions had awakened something in her too. Not anything sexual of course, though it was certainly primal. She had become defiant almost the instant she had sensed he would not harm her right this moment.

This could be a problem later on. If he intended to keep her for now, he would have to reassert his dominance and swiftly. He had nothing to fear from her as long as she was cuffed to him. He could easily overpower her, despite the fact that she was younger and perhaps even faster. Still, he was not dead yet, and so she would have to submit to his wishes. Thankfully, his cabin had just the tools he needed to render her thoughts of escape useless.

He smiled to himself. _This was going to be fun_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. What's your thoughts on Martin? I suspect he'll become even more sinister as the story progresses. We shall see!   
> -Pancakes


	5. Freedom In The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my lovely readers. Here you go with chapter 5. I'm at work in my lunch break, so writing is very limited. I hope you enjoy this nonetheless. Once I get home I will look to my other stories and try at plop an there somewhere.

Another silence had bloomed around them, and he eventually remembered her phone. As she drove, he pulled it out, looking it over. He wasn't used to such modern devices, and he realised that he didn't know how to extract the sim card. Taking the phone with them would prove pretty disastrous, tracking it was all too easy. Eventually he had no other choice but to throw it out the window. Laura gave him an angry, hurt look and he felt a twinge of regret, but he didn't say anything. She could not be allowed to see any signs of weakness with him. And the phone had to go. 

"That was a new phone," she eventually said, angrily. 

Martin felt relieved. If it was new, then there was less data on the device that she had just lost. He didn't answer her. Instead he gave her a few choice instructions, making her drive north west. 

Another few hours, and darkness had descended. Finally they were driving through dense forest. He had only spoken to give her instructions on where to go, and she had obeyed silently. His heart soared as he recognised the area, even in the blackness of night. 

_So close_.

"We're almost out of gas," she suddenly said. 

"It isn't far now," he responded softly. Through the gloom of the trees, a fence suddenly appeared, the tall gate looming above them. 

Martin looked towards the cabin placed further back. It wasn't visible. 

The gate would open with a passcode, but the keypad was on the drivers side. 

Laura jumped when she suddenly realised he was leaning towards her, his face very close to hers. She held her breath, but then realized he was only accessing the window. He pushed the button for it to roll down, and chuckled. 

"The last time I was free, we had to do this manually. Can you believe that?" He commented. She didn't answer. She only hoped he would soon leave her space. As the window rolled down, biting, cold air filled the car, making her shiver violently. He glanced at her, as he felt her tremble. 

To her frustration he leaned further in, placing his cuffed hand on her thigh to steady himself so he could reach the keypad. She nearly shoved at him to remove it, but thought better of it a split second later.

"I'm gonna need you to look away, Miss Wright," he said, his warm breath whispering across her face as he spoke to her. 

She did as he asked, and heard him engage the keypad. The gate hummed and clicked, and then started sliding sideways. Finally he leaned back, settling in his own seat again. She gave a relieved sigh. Her thigh was tingling from where his warm hand had lingered. She gritted her teeth at the pleasant feeling. Then realized that she had secretly enjoyed his touch. It had felt reassuring. This was quite the paradox, seeing as he was a serial killer. Her cold fingers clenched on the steering wheel. What the hell was wrong with her?

"Please drive forward," Martin instructed softly. 

She obliged. The gate closed shortly after and soon a cabin bloomed out of the darkness. It looked cozy, but she had a feeling it was anything but cozy.

As she stopped the car in front of it, she looked at it with a slightly open mouth. 

"Kill the engine," he said. 

The silence and darkness was suddenly complete. 

The window had remained open, and she sensed he was listening for any unusual sounds. The cold air bit at her. She hadn't dressed for this kind of weather. She shivered. After a few minutes, he instructed her to turn on the car so she could close the window. Then he killed the engine, and took the key from the switch. 

"Now, you know the drill," he said, opening the door on his side, elegantly indicating for her to climb over him once more. 

She huffed angrily, and steeled herself. She awkwardly clambered over him, feeling her face burn as she had to place her hands on his thighs to accomplish it She couldn't help but notice how strong the muscles felt beneath the white fabric of his prison scrubs. She could feel his eyes on her as she moved, even his smirk was loud. He inhaled deeply as she came close, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. Weather from revulsion or anticipation, she didn't know. 

Finally she was free of the car, and he followed her out into the cold night. 

He swiftly shut the door and locked the car with the automatic key. Then he pulled her towards the dark cabin. The door was also passcode protected, and Martin had her turn away as he pressed a series of keys, making the lock click gently. 

Then they were inside. 

* * *

Martin glanced around the dark room. It appeared deserted. He almost gave a sigh of relief. The front door opened directly into the largest room of the cabin, and he allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then he moved into the room, feeling his captive follow along reluctantly. It was a large sitting area, combined with a kitchen. He felt a pang of hunger, but knew any food left here had spoiled long ago. They would have to wait. 

Beside the fridge was a door that would lead into the bedroom. The bathroom was connected to the bedroom by another door. On the other side of the room was a second door, right beside an old fashioned TV. 

It would reveal a staircase that led down to his hobby room. And his prisoner's new living arrangements. He went to it, pulling her along. The door had another keypad. He engaged it and then had her down the staircase in a few moments. Once they were beneath the ground, he switched on the light, and they both stood blinking in the sudden brightness. 

Laura gasped loudly, and he felt her shrink back, her back hitting the wall with a thump. 

He couldn't blame her. The room was quite overwhelming to any outsider.

"So sorry about the mess," he said. He glanced at her and pointed. 

"I'll have to leave you in there for the foreseeable future," he added, his voice dark. 

She had seen it instantly. A cell, in the far corner of the room. Her heart sank as she realized just how much trouble she was in. The room wasn't big. The sparse furniture consisted mostly of medical equipment. But the cell was by far the scariest sight to her.

He dragged her forward again, having her enter the cell, their cuffed hands spanning the threshold. 

"Give me the key to the handcuffs," he finally said, his voice almost muffled in the silent room. 

She blanched at that, and he watched as she realized it. She didn't have the keys. She had forgotten about them. They were in her locker, back at the psychiatric hospital. 

"I-I don't have it," she stammered. 

He considered her for a long moment.

"Well then, this is going to be a long night," he said, smirking darkly down at her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I love to read your thoughts!  
> -Pancakes


	6. Solutions Of Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps, here you go.  
> I managed to write this in just over an hour. I just about got home from work, and went straight to writing.  
> I hope it's okay, really. I'm exhausted. Lol! 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy! Sinister Martin ahead.  
> Oh, and thank you for your lovely reviews! I still can't believe that people enjoy what I write! so thank you so so much!

Martin Whitly stood towering over the young woman as she gasped softly at his last words. She had tensed as he requested the keys to the handcuffs. He really should have asked her long before now, but it hadn't occurred to him. 

_Careless._

He kept his gaze on her as he pondered his options. There was no way in hell he could allow her to sleep close to him. She would definitely try and hurt him. He couldn't even blame her. Nonetheless they both needed sleep. And food. But there was nothing he could do about that for now. One solution at a time. If he didn't get to sleep, he would make more mistakes. A few ideas flashed through his mind. He turned towards the room behind him. It was designed like a doctor's clinic. He had decorated for his unusual hobby. Including restraints. He walked swiftly to a set of drawers, dragging the young girl with him. Everything was locked away behind a keypad, ensuring that he couldn't accidentally leave a key lying around. The display lit up, and he checked that she wasn't looking. Then typed in the passcode. The lock clicked softly and he opened the drawer. Despite how long it had been, it glided smoothly from its place and revealed its contents to him. 

He hastily plucked a pair of handcuffs and key and shut the drawer, turning towards her as he placed the key in his right pocket.

Her eyes widened as she saw the second pair of handcuffs. 

"No!" She protested, her voice weak with exhaustion. She tries to back away, but chained to him, she got nowhere. 

"I'm afraid this is the only solution," he said softly, rattling the restraints at her. 

" _No!_ " She said, straining against him, even managing to drag him forward a little, her voice a little stronger. 

"Listen young miss, we both need sleep, and I can't rest knowing that you will attack me any second. She shook her head violently, but he ignored her, and began to drag her towards the stairs. The only place they could both sleep comfortably was his bed. 

"Come on," he said sternly, yanking her forward. She fought him tooth and nail, making it impossible for him to drag her up the dark, and narrow staircase. Finally, he lost patience, and grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her backwards against the wall, the darkness enveloping them, as he turned off the lights in the room behind them. He held her there for a long moment, leaning increasingly against her as she struggled. His eyes gradually got used to the darkness, and he realised their faces were very close. He could smell her distinct vanilla fragrance. 

"Are you _quite_ finished?" He finally asked darkly. 

She didn't respond, only gasping and struggling. 

"If you prefer for me to remove your hand with a scalpel to free you from these cuffs, so I can lock you in the cell, I will _gladly_ oblige," he murmured. 

She froze. 

"However, there is a much simpler solution for now, and it is that you _obey_ me," he added, his voice sinister. 

She was breathing heavily now. 

"Do we have an accord?" He asked softly. 

He could see just enough through the gloom, and she nodded once, swallowing thickly. 

"Good girl, now follow along," he said, grabbing her cuffed hand in his and dragging her upstairs.

He opened the door to the bedroom shortly after, and entered into the darkness. 

"Best keep the lights off for now," he said, confidently moving through the shadows. She followed right behind him, doing her best to see where she was walking. Martin went to the right side of the bed and, with his right hand, pulled back the linen that had covered it, securing minimal dust settlement directly on the duvets and pillows. He breathed in the dust that swirled through the air as he had to disturb it. 

Folding the fabric haphazardly he threw it to the floor.

"Now climb in," he instructed. 

"Crawl to the far side of the bed and lie down," he added, following right behind her. They moved awkwardly, and as she turned around to get onto her back, she knocked her head straight into his, a blunt crack sounding through the room. She yelped in pain, drowning out his own sibilant hiss of displeasure. They both tried to clutch at their injuries, but they were equally hampered by their linked wrists, and had to resort to one-handedly rubbing at the sore spots. 

"Please be more careful," he murmured gruffly, still feeling at his tender head. 

She didn't answer, her breathing fast and shallow. 

"Are you okay?" He asked softly, frowning through the darkness. 

A tiny whimper sailed through the air, and he hastily sought out her head, his fingers probing for her injury. She gasped and nearly yanked her body backwards, trying to get out of his touch. 

"Don't be ridiculous, I need to see if you're okay," he hissed, easily grabbing her shoulders before she could move from her spot. 

She grew rigid, wincing as his questing fingers found the tender spot on her head.

He felt a slight swelling at her temple, but nothing too serious. Most likely just a bruise forming. 

"Alright, you'll live," he said, nearly wincing at his own words, seeing the dark irony in her situation. 

"Lay down on your back," he instructed, pushing at her to oblige. 

Then he grabbed her left wrist, locking the second pair of cuffs around it, securing it without hurting her. He had to lean in over her, placing a knee between her thighs to reach the left side of the headboard. She gasped and tried to jolt upright, her legs closing on instinct around his leg, her chest ramming into his as he tried to secure her to the bed. 

"Damn it girl!" He wheezed, her movement nearly knocking the breath from him. He locked the cuff around the metal frame of the bed, making sure it was immovable, her left arm now awkwardly placed over her head. 

He retreated a little, his body hovering over hers as he looked into her face. 

"You are so jumpy. I am not going to hurt you like that, haven't I already assured you of this?" He asked her, almost impatient. 

She didn't answer, but he could almost sense her angry glare. 

"That doesn't bring me any pleasure. I like my sexual partners to enjoy themselves," he added seductively, his fingers ghosting her cheek.

She hastily turned her head away from his touch, whimpering softly. 

He climbed away from her, wrestling the covers out from beneath her, awkwardly trying to cover her in the darkness. When he finished, he got down beside her, their linked wrists between them, huffing with exhaustion, covering himself as well.

It had been quite a day. He lay there staring up into the dark ceiling, his body nearly humming with suppressed exhaustion. He had barely registered the events since he escaped. He was free at last 

The sheets smelled old and definitely not clean. But at least the bed was comfortable. He took the key from his pocket and placed it on his night stand, safely out of her reach. He rubbed his face with a weary hand, the silence in the room only interrupted by her shaky breath. As he nearly drifted off, he thought he heard her sob softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to know your thoughts! This story is quite intriguing to develop!  
> -Pancakes


	7. Waking In Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo my kind and lovely readers! Please accept my apology for not bringing you more chapters this week! I have had so much work, plus I took quite a while to recover from my flu, so I have had such little energy, unfortunately!  
> Hopefully it will be better this coming week. I'm working on several stories as I type this, and hopefully I can update a few this coming week.  
> I will be working a lot though. I usually have 10 hours a week, but these last few weeks, its been closer to 40, because our workload has grown with like 400%. I'm not used to so much work, so that is why I'm updating so sporadically. I'm so sorry about that!  
> Rest assured, my stories have not been abandoned!  
> Anyways, here's a little longer chapter for you. Hope you enjoy.  
> Fair warning: Martin Whitly is a little sinister in this story. Read at your own discretion.

Martin woke quite suddenly, feeling his bladder urgently telling him of his need to use the bathroom. He was laying on his side, his body facing the young woman beside him. She was still sleeping. She faced him as well, her chained arm angled awkwardly behind her head, her bent elbow covering her face. The hand that was shackled to him was on the bed between them, her fingers almost brushing his. During the night the cover had slid down her body and she was barely covered. It lay across her hips. Her deep breathing was just audible. She had curled up into a ball most likely trying to protect herself from something in her dreams. 

It was then he realised the room was cold. Of course he hadn't turned on the heater. He estimated that the temperature in the room was around 18 degrees Celsius.

He didn't want to disturb her and so he kept still for a while pondering things in his mind. He hadn't slept so well in a long time. Despite the restful night, he felt exhausted. His body had definitely not recovered from the gruelling run the day before. The adrenaline that had been pumping through his system had left him feeling wan and sluggish. His eyes felt like they had gravel in them.

He glanced around the room. Light was filtering through the dusty windows and he guessed it was almost noon, though he couldn't be certain. The furniture was covered in white linen sheets, protecting them from the dust and sun. 

He gave a soft sigh.

There was work to be done if he planned on staying here. 

His bladder gave another painful jolt and he nearly groaned. She needed to wake soon, or he would have to wake her up. How he was going to relieve himself with their wrists linked, he didn't like to think about. This was going to be quite awkward. He would have to find a way to remove the handcuffs and do it soon. He thought he remembered he had kept some tools in the tiny shed behind the cabin. He could perhaps find a hacksaw there. That would have to do. 

He watched her sleeping figure for a few minutes, before his physical need became too uncomfortable and he shifted slightly, jostling her a bit on purpose, hoping she would wake from her sleep. She stirred somewhat, nuzzling into the pillow with a soft sigh. 

"Miss Wright, are you awake?" He said softly, ghosting his index down her arm. 

She jolted, startled at the touch, her bright blue eyes opening suddenly, and she violently rolled backwards, away from him. He caught her instinctively by their shackled wrists, catching her before she could roll over the edge completely. 

"Careful. You could end up harming yourself," he murmured, his eyes roaming her startled face. 

She was very pale all of a sudden. She took a few swallows, glancing around the room.

"Right. Wouldn't want to get in the way of whatever you have planned for me," she commented sardonically, her voice breathless.

"I don't have any plans for you," he said, softly, easily dragging her back onto the bed, making sure she wouldn't topple over the edge.

"Then let me go! You can't keep me here like this!" She said pleadingly. 

He pondered her for a long moment. Then choosing to ignore her words he sighed.

"For now, I need to use the bathroom. Unfortunately you have to come with me," he said mechanically. 

He saw that familiar tick in her jaw and he nearly chuckled. He rolled over and grabbed the key from his bedside table, shuffling the cover away from his body as he crawled over to her, leaning in across her to reach the cuff that held her chained to the bed. 

Then he got up, waiting for her to follow along. 

"I imagine you would like to use the facilities as well," he commented as a matter of factly as he opened the door to the bathroom. 

She huffed darkly, clearly annoyed that he had said exactly what she had been thinking.

The room was filled with shadows, only a tiny filthy window letting in a little grey light. 

He turned to her in the shadows and despite his own urgent need, he indicated for her to go first. 

"Ladies first," he said pleasantly. 

Laura gave him a dirty look, that he could clearly see through the silky darkness.

"I'm not going while you're in the room," she said defiantly. 

"Well, it's not like I enjoy this either, Miss Wright. If you have to go, now would be a good time. I don't know when I will be able to get these cuffs off, but when I do, your facilities won't be this pleasant, I assure you," he said, smirking. 

She scowled. 

"Fine, then turn away, will you?" 

He merely chuckled disbelievingly. 

"I'm afraid I'm not that stupid, my dear. No, I will have to keep a close watch on you. Now get on with it," he said, smoothly, rattling her arm impatiently. 

She huffed again, shifting from one foot to the other, not ready to just pull down her trousers in front of him. 

"Laura, it's too dark for me to see anything really. Will you just get it done?" He finally said, his voice a bit more biting than he intended. He really had to go. 

Finally she began to open the fly on her jeans, hastily pulling them down, leaving her panties on to the last moment. She sat down as fast as she could, and he had to bend down so she wasn't yanked sideways by their linked hands. 

"Good girl," he said, smirking as he heard the sound of her healthy stream. She kept her face down, trying to be as fast as possible. 

Finally done, she looked around for anything to wipe with, but there seemed to be nothing. 

"Oh right. That would be in the cupboard by the sink," he mused. 

Neither of them could reach, without her standing up and following him over to it. She easily decided that she did not want to waddle after him with her trousers down by her ankles just to get a chance to dry herself, and so she unceremoniously pulled her trousers up, trying to rotate so he couldn't see much. 

* * *

Martin had been silent during the entire ordeal, feeling he shouldn't push her buttons too much as of this moment. However, he couldn't help but linger on the sight of her creamy skin as her thighs became exposed to his gaze. He tried to avert his gaze slightly, but found it really difficult, as it had been so long since he had seen the naked skin of a woman. He hoped she hadn't noticed. It was unlikely, since she had kept her head down the entire time. 

He made swift work of relieving himself, noting that she defiantly turned away from him. Of course it was much easier for him to be discreet than it was for her. He felt his body relax instinctively as his need subsided. Now he only had to deal with the slight light headedness from hunger. He needed to sort out some food. 

Eventually he pulled the young woman out through the door and back into the bedroom. He surveyed the room, trying to recollect what options he had. He knew the safe was hidden well away beneath the bed. It contained plenty of money. How he was supposed to get food, he would have to think about. First he needed to lose the petite lady attached to him. He preferred that she not know of the safe. 

Walking through the doors and aiming for the door that led to the back of the cabin, he felt her follow reluctantly. He didn't like having his back to her, but it couldn't be helped at the moment. He knew she was unlikely to think of an escape right this instant. Especially if he kept moving. However when he thought of her following him into the shed, he realised the place would be overflowing with weapons. She could easily grab one and stab him while he was occupied with looking for the damn hacksaw. The thought made him halt in his tracks quite abruptly, and she bumped straight into him, her small frame practically bouncing off his. 

"Sorry about that," he said gruffly, grabbing her so she wouldn't stumble. 

"I just realised something," and he turned around, pushing her back inside the cabin. 

"I need to get something," and he dragged her towards the door that led to the basement. He needed another set of handcuffs. 

It hadn't gone without a fight, but he had finally managed to cuff her wrists together, making sure she was practically unable to move her hands. Now she was chained to him as well as her own wrists being linked. He felt a little more secure in the fact that she would be less able to harm him now, and so he led her back outside, punching in the pass-code on the shed, the door clicking softly. The place was filthy by any standard for a garden shed. He felt her cringe violently as he dragged her into the blackness. 

It smelled dank and mouldy, but also of earth and wood. The tiny space wasn't completely dark now that the door stood wide open, and he looked around hastily, trying to locate the tools he might need, while also keeping an eye on his prisoner. 

Then he spotted the hacksaw, reaching up to grab it as it hung from a thick nail high on the wall. He heard her gasp softly and turned to her, the saw securely in his free hand. 

“You best be keeping still while I do this,” he said, his voice quiet in the darkness. 

He placed the chain of the cuffs over the edge of a wooden table, and began sawing at the links. Despite the rusty blade, it went through smoothly enough, and they were soon unhooked from each other, the remnants of the cuffs still around each of their wrists. 

As soon as she felt her arms give way, Laura swung her freed hands upwards, the metal cuff catching Martin painfully on the jaw, making him stagger back in shock. She turned and ran as fast as she could out the shed door, slamming it behind her. She was breathing harshly, the sound almost masking the noise as he came hurtling out after her. She gave a frightened whimper as she realised she would never be able to get away. The entire property was fenced in. Even if it hadn’t been, she found it hard to run, when her hands were shackled together, and she almost stumbled several times on the uneven forest ground, only just managing to stay on her feet. She had barely gotten 20 meters beyond the shed when a pair of strong arms encircled her waist, and she screamed in terror, her legs kicking out in front of her, as she tried to wriggle free of him. She struggled so fiercely that they both tumbled over, their bodies hitting the cold, leaf strewn ground. She continued to scream and flail as best she could, though she knew it was hopeless. He was too large and too strong for her, and she felt his weight as he rolled on top of her, pressing her almost painfully into the ground. She was no match for him, and he straddled her torso, using his hands to press her shoulders into the ground, his tailbone pressing painfully into her pubic bone.

* * *

“That’s enough!” He said harshly, pinning her down, his strong thighs squeezing her sides tightly. She was hoarse from screaming but she didn’t desist, her lungs wheezing with the effort, his weight making it hard for her to breathe, and she nearly passed out. Suddenly his large hand clamped over her mouth, effectively silencing her. 

“I said, that’s enough!” He repeated darkly, leaning down over her, his face inches from hers. 

“Listen girl, you will not be able to escape, so you might as well stop trying. I will not hurt you, but if you resist me, I will have to find a way to restrain you, and it won’t be pleasant!” 

He spoke urgently, looking keenly into her face. Tears leaked from her eyes, rolling into her hair. She was sobbing into his hand now, her body trembling beneath him. 

Their short struggle had winded him somewhat, and his jaw was throbbing where she had struck him, luckily had it not been for his beard cushioning the blow, the injury would have been worse. He was breathing heavily, looking down at his prisoner. The pain in her eyes almost made him wince, so he straightened up, breathing in the cool forest air, trying to regain his bearings. He felt his head spin, his body protesting the lack of food. He needed to find supplies for them. She must be so hungry too. 

“I’m going to get up. You will comply with me, and I will try and get us some food. Understood?” He asked her seriously. She gave a single nod, closing her eyes. 

He grabbed the chain of her cuffs and began to get up, but as soon as he was kneeling halfway off her, she kicked him in the groin, struggling to make him let go of her. 

He growled at the pain as it flashed through him, making him land awkwardly beside her. His brain was nearly suffering from sensory overload as the pain wracked his body, and he had to let go of her to push himself off the ground. She tried to get up, rolling onto her stomach, intending to crawl away, but he awkwardly rolled on top of her again, using his entire body to pin her beneath him. She struggled, but again, she was no match for him. Her backside bumped into his still throbbing groin several times, making him almost see stars, but he held her there until she finally gave in. He was breathing so hard he sounded like an angry rhinoceros, his head right beside hers. 

“That fucking hurt,” he growled, finally. 

“Good!" She countered fiercely, breathing just as hard. 

“Are you going to behave, or will I have to render you unconscious?” He asked darkly, his fingers coming around her throat, easily finding her carotid artery, gently squeezing, knowing that this would cut off the blood supply to her brain, starving it of oxygen. It would take no more than a couple of minutes for her to fall unconscious. She stiffened beneath him, sensing his serious threat. 

“Fine!” she said, slumping in defeat. 

Martin gave a low chuckle. He had not been wrong in sensing that she would definitely make things more interesting for him. Wincing slightly with pain, he got up, easily dragging her with him into the waiting cabin. 

She was going to  _ regret  _ kicking him in the balls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dying to know what you think? It is a really tough story to develop as there are sooo many factors, I never even considered. Lol!   
> -Pancakes


	8. Lost in place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very quick update. I'm at work, so I haven't read it through. I just had to get it out there. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Warning: Martin is sinister and quite unpleasant in this chapter. Read with care, please.

Martin dragged the young woman into the cabin. She was still struggling, though her heart wasn't in it. 

Her body was exhausted, her muscles weak with hunger, so he had no trouble dragging her down the stairs and pulling her into the cell in the basement. He still felt his groin throbbing from her attack, and he wanted dearly to pay her back for it. He pushed her in through the cell door, following close behind, easily pinning her petite frame against the back wall, looming over her. 

She was scared now, he could sense it. She was producing small whimpers and croaks as she closed her eyes not daring to look up at him. 

He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her up, so she instinctively had to wrap her legs around his middle, his stomach pressing into her core. Their faces were now level, and she had opened her eyes wide in fear.

"My balls are killing me," he growled at her, grabbing her cuffed wrists tightly, lifting her arms above her head, keeping her aloft by pushing his pelvis forward, angling it under her, pushing her back against the wall hard. 

"You really shouldn't have done that," he added darkly, looking up to see the hook on the wall. It was a sturdy thing, and would easily hold her weight. He looped the chain of her cuffs over the hook, securing her arms above her head. He stepped back, allowing her legs down, so she hung from the hook. 

She gave a piercing cry as the metal cut into her wrists, the weight of her body pulling her down. He turned away from her, as if to leave.

"No, please! Let me down!" She cried, sobbing and shaking with fear. He turned around to look at her as she struggled, trying to look up at her hands above her head, fighting to get loose.

"You know the magic word," he said smoothly, cutting through her cries. 

She didn't hesitate. 

"I-I'm sorry!" She said, panic in her voice, interlaced with pain. 

"Sorry for what?" He asked, cupping his hand behind his ear, as if he hadn't heard her. 

"For hurting you! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" She sobbed, desperate for some relief from the terrible pain. 

He gave her a few more seconds, before he looked around for the small stool he kept down here. It was covered in dust, and his fingers left deep gouges in it as he picked it up. 

He placed it so she could stand on it, though without being able to free herself. Her sobs ceased almost immediately, replaced by her heavy breathing, as her wrists were relieved of the weight. 

"This will be your punishment for your bad behaviour. I will get back to you once I feel you're ready to think about what you did," he said, his voice deep and authoritative. 

Then he turned, closed the cell door behind him and walked out, leaving her to scream in anger and frustration. 

* * *

Martin went back upstairs, feeling his anger pump through his system. 

The nerve of the girl! 

He stalked back and forth trying to think about his next move. He needed to get his priorities straight. She had distracted him so much already. First things first. He needed to shower, and perhaps do some grooming. He could not do that until he got the power running. He also needed to check on the outside world. They must be searching for him by now. 

He went out back, finding the power cabinet. A few switches had been left on so the keypads would work. Also the basement power had been left on, so the basement couldn't be flooded during the wet seasons. He turned a few switches, restoring power to the main cabin and the heater. 

Then he went back inside, turning on the lights and he began to remove the sheets covering almost every piece of furniture. He threw them in a corner for now, then began to strip off his prison smock, walking naked towards the bathroom. 

Switching on the shower, the murky, orange spray sputtered to life, pouring into the bathtub. He turned on the faucet in the sink, the water equally dirty. Then he went back out into the kitchen, switching on the water there as well. The pipes needed to be run through. It took a few minutes for the water to grow clear, and once it had, he flushed out the ancient kettle, putting it on to boil some water. With no food, tea would have to keep him going for now. The small amount of caffeine it supplied would boost his blood sugars a little. 

He rummaged through the kitchen drawers, searching for anything he could use to cut his beard and hair with, finding a small pair of scissors. That would have to do. 

He returned to the bathroom, and standing in front of the mirror, he began to trim away his beard in sections, getting it down to a length that made him less recognisable. Then he trimmed his hair, the wild curls falling to the floor, some getting caught in his chest hair. 

He searched the cabinet for something to wash with while in the shower. The only thing that hadn't spoiled was a bar of soap, meant for washing hands. It would have to do. He stepped under the cold spray, (the heater hadn't had time to heat any water just yet), and hastily washed his hair and body. He explored his tender genitals, checking the damage she had done by kicking him. A certain amount of swelling did linger, but nothing serious. 

The cold water refreshed him somewhat. He stepped out and went to the kitchen to prepare the tea, naked, waiting for the air to dry his body. 

Then he went to the bedroom, shuffling through the wardrobe, trying to find any clothes. 

His woollen sweaters were riddled with moths, and the fabric almost shredded. He settled for a dark shirt and a pair of old jeans. Then went back into the kitchen to drink his tea. He already felt much better just being out of his prison scrubs. 

He thought through a plan to get supplies. Luckily money wasn't a problem. It was more the fact that he risked getting recognised once he ventured out into the world. But he had no choice. They needed food, and a few other items. He glanced out the dusty window. He could just see the girls car from here. 

If he was lucky they hadn't yet realised that she had been taken. Her car was the only means of transportation he had. He would have to find another solution, and soon. 

Martin went beneath the bed, searching for the small groove that hid the safe. He had saved a fair amount of cash during the years. He knew there had to be at least 100.000 dollars. Enough to last him a long time if he was smart with his money. He grabbed a bundle of bills and making up his mind, he grabbed the keys, and went outside. There was no point in dithering about.

* * *

He remembered there was a gas station a few miles west of here. He hoped to god it was still there. He squinted out through the windshield, finally spotting it. The car was almost running on fumes when he finally rolled in beside a gas pump. Hastily feeding a few bills to the slot, he filled the car and sped out of there before anyone could drive up beside him. 

The car filled with gas and his heart a little more hopeful, he went hunting for the things he needed. 

* * *

It was almost dark when he returned home to the cabin. He had been shopping for hours, or so it felt. He was tired and mildly nauseous with the exertions. He hadn't dared to stop and eat, feeling too exposed. He had grabbed a hat in the supermarket and tried to find everything he needed as fast as he could. Clothes for him and her, he had to guess her size, food, a laptop computer, and some other necessary items. 

The bags were heavy and he had to take the trip from the car to the cabin twice to get everything inside. 

He hastily began to prepare some food. A simple vegetable soup would soothe their hunger without making them feel sick. It was soon simmering gently in a newly cleaned pot. While waiting for the dinner to cook, he went about cleaning the place, throwing everything unusable into black trash bags. He put the new clothes away neatly, and replaced the household items in their proper place. 

Darkness had fallen and he felt exhausted. It had been another long day. The cabin was filled with the aroma of the soup, and he felt his guts churn. He wasn't done yet though. He needed to check on his prisoner. 

* * *

The basement was quiet as he opened the sound proof door. He slowly went down the stairs, listening for her sounds. Nothing. As he reached the bottom, she came into sight. 

She was hanging on the wall, literally. She had somehow managed to kick the small stool out from under her, her wrists then subjected to the full weight of her body. He took in the scene in an instant. She had clearly fought to get free. Her efforts, however, had gotten her into deeper trouble. The bleeding had slowed, but there was no mistaking her pale features. The blood had leaked down her arms, soaking her clothes. 

She had cut herself severely on the cuffs, and she was hanging limply, the world lost to her, as she had grown unconscious. 

Martin heaved a deep sigh, hastily unlocking the cell door and entering. He could smell the blood on her. He eased her down, cradling her to his chest. She was very pale. She looked awful, her braided hair almost l

Coming loose, a few leaves tangled in the soft brown curls.

He carried her upstairs, feeling like kicking himself over his foolishness. This was not what he had wanted. His anger at her had almost killed her. He placed her down on his bed, fishing the key for the cuffs out of his pocket, freeing her wrists. 

He assessed the damage to her skin, and checked her pulse, pressing his fingers into her skin just beneath the jaw line. It was fairly weak and fast. She had cut herself deeply, but he could not see any bone. Neither were they broken, which was lucky. Left untreated, broken wrists would leave her handicapped for life. She was clammy, almost feverish. Her lips were parched and cracked. Dehydration and blood loss. Not good. Her hands and arms were deathly cold.

Martin left her there to go back to his basement, gathering up some medical supplies to treat her cuts. He needed to give her fluids somehow. He had no saline solution, so it would have to be oral, but she needed to wake up for him to do that. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water.

Then he went into the bathroom, soaking a rag with cold water. Coming back, he sat down beside her limp figure again and placed it on her forehead, soothing her burning skin. 

The coldness seemed to work, and she stirred slightly. This was a good indication, suggesting that she had passed out due to exhaustion or pain and not because of dehydration.

"Laura," he said softly. 

"Can you hear me?" 

Her eyelids flickered. She opened them slowly, her eyes finding his face, but there was no focus. 

He shifted her body, so she was sitting up slightly, cradling her head in his hand, then lifted the water in front of her face. He allowed her to take a small sip, checking to see if she had any trouble swallowing. He gave her a few more small gulps, then took the glass away. Rehydration should happen slowly. 

"How are you feeling?" He asked her, keeping his voice gentle and kind. 

She shook her head, closing her eyes tiredly. 

"Don't go to sleep," he admonished. She didn't respond. 

"Laura, you have to stay awake," he said hastily. 

Still nothing. 

He got up and went to the bathroom. He turned on the water in the shower, adjusting the temperature to cool. Then he went back for the girl. She was still out. 

He carried her to the bathtub, placing her body beneath the spray of water. He was getting wet too, but didn't care at the moment. Her clothes were soaked in seconds. The cold water jerked her awake, and she gave a hoarse yelp, trying to shield herself from the coldness. 

"I'm sorry, but I have to keep you awake," he said softly. 

"Don't move, please," he added. 

He grabbed one of her wrists, allowing the water to wash away the blood. He did the same to her other arm, rinsing the wounds as gently as he could. Even so she let out a few hisses of displeasure.

"You've made quite a mess, I'm afraid," he said conversationally, while he worked. 

She glared at him. 

"You did this," she said, her voice hoarse and weak. 

He glanced at her face, but said nothing. He watched as the tub filled with rivers of red, the blood flowing down the drain. Her clothes were still stained though. She was shivering now, and he hastily switched the water temperature to warm.

"I have to remove your clothes, Laura," he said, pulling the elastic band from her hair, allowing it to loosen. He detached a few of the leaves too. 

She shook her head at him. 

"No," she managed. 

"I have to get you out of these wet clothes. I have bought new items of clothing for you. I will go get them, in the meantime, remove these," he said, indicating at her wet clothing. Then he left the room, searching through the newly acquired bags for a specific piece of clothing. He returned to find her in the same slumped position he had left her in. He sighed and switched off the water.

"Can you stand?" He asked. 

She glared. 

"Look, I will leave you to change by yourself by having the shower curtain closed. Then you will have privacy without being able to make more trouble. How's that?" He said, fighting to keep his exasperation at bay. He handed her the bathrobe he had bought for her. She glowered at it. 

"Come now, let's not make things more difficult. Either you do it yourself, or I will have to do it for you," he said, shaking the garment impatiently at her. 

She huffed, but grabbed it nonetheless. 

"Good girl," he praised, yanking the curtain in front of her, shielding her from his vision. 

He heard her as she shuffled around, the wet clothes hitting the bottom of the bathtub with a squelch. When she was done, she pulled the curtain aside, standing in front of him in the new fluffy bathrobe.

"Well done," he said, smiling delightedly at her. 

He was pleased that she hadn't fallen and caused herself more injury. 

She was still shivering though, wether from coldness or exhaustion and fear, he could not tell.

"Come," he said, grabbing her before she could do anything. He carried her to the bed, and sat her down. Then he went about changing his own wet clothes, not caring that she saw him naked. He still needed to keep an eye on her, so leaving to change was out of the question.

Finishing changing into a comfy set of sweatpants and a t-shirt, he turned to her, peering intently at her. She had turned away when she noticed he was undressing, but now she looked at him again. 

He grabbed the medical equipment and sat down beside her. 

"Give me your hand," he said softly, lifting his to indicate that she should place hers in his. 

She shook her head vehemently. 

"I'm just going to treat your wound," he said, patiently holding his hand out to her. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he added. 

"What the fuck do you call this then?" She asked fiercely, showing him her torn and bruised wrists. Her voice was still raw. 

He considered her for a long moment. 

"I lost my temper with you, and I'm sorry for that," he finally admitted. 

"It won't happen again, I promise," he added. 

She looked at him for a long time, then finally she held her arm up to him. 

He examined the wounds again, deciding they had been cleaned enough. Rinsing them with alcohol would only delay healing, so he instead wrapped her wrists in clean bandages, protecting them from becoming dirty again. 

He noticed her breathing had become faster as he worked, his fingers almost electric from touching her skin. He glanced at her face a few times, and her burning gaze almost had him lean in towards her. He pondered where this came from. He had never felt so attracted to anyone before. Of course he knew such a move would unsettle her, so he kept his urges in check. Once done he got up from the bed, feeling his side grow cold from where their bodies had touched.

"Are you going to behave or do I have to restrain you?" He asked her sternly, but not unkindly. 

She shrugged, her body sluggish. He decided to risk it and went to the kitchen to grab them some of the soup. It smelled delicious and he felt his stomach growl as he prepared the food. 

The steaming liquid could present a problem. She might fling it at him, creating serious burns to his skin. He hated that he had to be so cautious around her. There was no other way than for him to have to spoon feed her. 

As he returned to her with a tray in his hands, he noticed that she had not shifted. She kept her eyes on him as he approached. 

"I have food for you," he said, hoping she wouldn't reject him. 

She blinked, but said nothing. 

He placed the tray on the floor by the bed and sat down beside her, taking the cup with the soup, and holding it just out of her reach. He grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the fragrant liquid, then blew on it until it was cool enough. He placed it against her lips and waited. At first she clenched her lips together. 

"Come now, you need to eat. This will replenish your fluids and salts," he said, trying to push it in between her lips. She turned her head suddenly, almost making him spill. 

"Laura, we can do this the easy way or the hard way," he admonished, his voice deep and assertive. 

"I'm not hungry," she lied. 

"Yes you are," he countered darkly. 

"Will I have to restrain you and force feed you, or will you eat like a good girl?" He finally said darkly. 

She huffed, but turned back to him, allowing him to place the spoon between her lips. 

"That's it, let me take care of you," he said, watching her hungrily as she took another spoonful of soup. She didn't answer, but slowly took spoonful after spoonful as he gently fed them to her. 

Tears began to roll slowly down her cheeks, but none of them said anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?   
> -Pancakes


	9. Coming Down High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my darlings! Here's a rather short update for this story. I felt like it made most sense ending it here. More will come., I promise. *Wink*
> 
> Warning: lemons ahead.

Laura was so confused, as she sat on his bed, being spoon fed by him. She couldn't understand what her mind and body were trying to tell her. 

He had left her chained to the wall for hours, apparently not even considering that she might get hurt. What had he been thinking? He was such a monster. 

But then when he took care of her, she felt her body humming with pleasure at his attention. Rationally she had refused to make it easy for him, but on the other hand, she had been mesmerized by the way he treated her wounds. His skilled and gentle fingers grasping her skin, lingering only a fraction too long. Her heart rate had accelerated rapidly in the silence of her body, her breathing becoming faster. It took her a long while to realise that it was an attraction she felt. She was attracted to him.

 _To him_.

_Martin Whitly._

_Her captor._

_A serial killer_.

It was then the tears started flowing. 

She felt drained and apathetic, but the way he hovered over her, alert to any minute need she may have, his deep voice soothing her frazzled nerves, made her feel the goddamn attraction. He had leaned in as he worked and she had caught a whiff of his smell. He smelled fresh. Combined with the way his hands moved gracefully to bind her wrists, she found she wanted him to kiss her. She craved it. 

It made no sense. 

She of course knew of Stockholm Syndrome, but as far as she knew that took a lot longer to take hold. Or was it that she was simply so weak? 

_No_. 

She knew why if she had to be completely honest with herself. She had felt sparks from the first moment she had seen him. There was something about him that made her heart skip a beat. Especially the way he had looked at her. She had noticed that he had kept his eyes on her, blasting her with the full force of his charm. 

Even as he was pinning her against the wall in the elevator, she had shuddered when his hand had glided down her body. At the time she had told herself it was a normal reaction. She knew she was lying when she told herself it had been fear. 

No, she had felt a flash of desire as he was pressing against her. She knew she should feel embarrassed about it, but apparently she was less rational than a normal human being.

Only one time had she registered embarrassment during the escape. Once she was straddling him in the car, the position was far too close for her comfort, her face under intense, almost intimate scrutiny of Martin Whitly.

During their drive, she had felt his hand against her thigh, kept there by their cuffed hands. She had longed for his fingers to stroke her. 

Then there was the moment he had placed his knee between hers on the bed, leaning in over her. He had startled her, but despite his nature, she had felt safe beneath him. 

As she sat there, taking another spoonful of soup from him, she wondered how long she would be able to resist him. She had tried, hadn't she? She really had, but it had only resulted in herself getting hurt. She felt a pang of guilt as she recalled how she had hit him on the jaw. She never intentionally hurt anyone, violence made her queasy. Then he had caught her, easily pinning her to the ground beneath him. She had felt another flash of desire, her mind conjuring up another way he could pin her down and make her scream. She had nearly surrendered then and there. 

Then came the anger. She was angry at him for making her desire him. It had to be his fault. She was the victim after all. She had struggled against his body but also against her own mind. He had so easily won on both fronts. 

There was no escape. At the time fury had pounded through her, and she had acted without thinking, giving him a swift kick between his legs, trying in vain to get out from under him. Away from his smell, and from his touch. Away from her own desire. His touch, she realised, she craved it.

That was the last vestiges of her fight leaving her. He had won. 

When she came to in his bed, she had felt anger at him again. But not for the reasons he thought. She would never tell him how she felt. He had hurt her now. The callous way he had left her hanging. And yet, a part of her brain was telling her that she had hurt him too. 

_No, don't give in._

She needed to be strong, she needed to resist whatever the hell this was.

She glanced at his face as he gave her another mouthful. 

His features reflected the hunger she felt for his touch. 

* * *

Martin sensed the air shift around them when their eyes met. It almost seemed to crackle and solidify. He couldn't read her face properly. Her features were still molded into an angry mask, but her eyes were burning into his. Smoldering his very soul. 

The silence in the room was complete, except for their breathing. He noticed dimly that they were both practically panting. 

He kept their eyes locked as he placed her almost finished soup on the bedside table. He then slowly leaned in, watching her attentively. Her eyes flashed to his lips for a split second, and he knew what to do. 

He felt something inside him snap, and he closed the distance between them, their lips crashing together in a fierce kiss. He threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer as he devoured her mouth, tasting her sweetness, despite the remnants of the slightly salty soup. He hadn't kissed anyone for more than 20 years, and he felt his urges surge forward, almost overwhelming his senses. 

She gave the tiniest of moans, and suddenly his brain reconnected. He pulled back, breaking the kiss, panting against her lips. 

_No_. 

He couldn't do it. 

He would ruin her if he allowed himself to lose control. She was so pure. He could not contaminate her. 

He searched her eyes for a long time, wanting nothing more than to kiss her again. She had tasted so good and she had made no effort to stop him. She had even kissed him back, her tongue almost duelling his. The thought of that alone had him feel a tightening in his groin. God he wanted her. 

She was catching her breath, licking her lips. 

"I-" Martin began, his voice slightly hoarse. He swallowed dryly, clearing his throat a little. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," he said, rather breathlessly, swallowing thickly a few times. 

She didn't say anything. She seemed to have run out of words. He sighed softly. 

"You should try and get some sleep," he said gently. 

A tiny frown appeared between her brows. 

"You're not gonna restrain me?" She said, speaking for the first time in a while. 

He considered her. 

"Are you going to make trouble?" 

"I don't know," she said, honestly. 

He gently placed a hand on her thigh, leaning in again, their lips almost touching again. She gulped audibly. 

"What if I don't want to behave?" She whispered, desperately. 

He barely had time to register her words before she leaned forward, eagerly placing her lips on his. He received her gratefully, kissing her deeply, inhaling her as well. He pulled her closer, and she crawled forward into his lap, straddling him. He groaned at the feeling of her body against his, their hearts so close together, beating a steady rhythm of lust and desire. His fingers dug into the fabric of her bathrobe, feeling her body beneath, tempted to tear the garment off her body. 

He shifted them around, placing her on the bed, while stretching out on top of her, his hands roaming her body. She was moaning desperately, spreading her legs and he pushed against her, grinding his almost painful erection into her core, making her shudder beneath him. He lifted her leg up, trying to get more contact with her soft skin, and then buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent of mixed lavender and vanilla. She was gasping loudly, her breath almost deafening to his ears, the darkness drowning him. 

* * *

Martin awoke with a jerk. The room was dark. He was on the bed, on his side. His prisoner was laying beside him, sleeping soundly. 

He rolled onto his back, rubbing his face as he realised it had all been a dream. They had never even kissed. He almost groaned, feeling his prominent erection strain against his trousers. He delicately rearranged his nether region, trying to get more comfortable. He stared into the darkness, pondering the dream. It had been a long time since he had dreamt of such sexual things. He glanced at the dark form beside him. She was breathing deeply, her mind blissfully unaware of his deep desire for her. 

Unable to stand it any longer, he got out of the bed, trying not to disturb her too much. He went for the bathroom, glancing out the window as he went. A dusky glow indicated it was just before dawn. He stretched and went for the toilet, relieving himself, trying to wake up, shaking the dream from his mind. 

He decided to take a shower, easily divesting himself of his clothes, turning on the water. He adjusted the water temperature and then stepped in, allowing the water to wake him. Flashes of his dream flooded his brain, and he felt a stirring again. He groaned softly, taking his member in his hand, stroking himself lazily. He needed to get this out of his system. He allowed himself to submerge into the dreamscape, seeing her, tasting her, feeling her. In his mind, they did a lot more than just kiss. He imagined himself entering her body, feeling her warmth enveloping him, his cock plunging into her heat again and again, coaxing her to a strong orgasm. He stroked himself faster, closing his eyes as he saw it all play out in his mind. Her throaty moans filling his ears, her inner muscles fluttering and contracting repeatedly as she experienced her release with him. He soon erupted, his seed getting lost to the drain. He was breathing heavily, leaning one hand against the tiles, water splashing down his face, as he regained his composure. Then he finished washing, and switched off the water. He hesitated for a brief moment, before bracing himself to go out and face her, pretending as if nothing had happened. He had a feeling this was going to be more of a challenge than he anticipated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I will update as fast as I can. Life is a little more complicated at the moment, so I don't have much time. I apologize for any delays.   
> -Pancakes


	10. Lost Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys! Hope you're doing well! I've been writing on this since I got home from work. I hope it's alright. As always, I'm exhausted, BUT! I've got Bailey's! 
> 
> Tender Martin Whitly ahead. Also, violence. Please be careful.

A couple of days had passed, and they had fallen into this strange routine of life. He would take care of everything, her being too big a risk to give her any essential tasks. Also, he felt it safest to not antagonise her with any demands. She had calmed down somewhat, not fighting him as much as in the beginning of her capture. Instead she became almost resigned in a depressed sort of way. Not that he could blame her. He knew how it felt to be imprisoned. Even so, he couldn't let her go. He felt this strange attachment towards her. He needed her, and he felt certain she needed him too, though he didn't know why. Yet.

He had resorted to having her sleep in his bed in the nights, her wrist cuffed to the bed frame, just in case. The only problem was she was far too tempting for him to be this close. She was blissfully unaware of how she made him feel and he did his best to keep it that way, though he had trouble suppressing a certain flirtatious undertone in their conversations. He had gotten into the habit of getting out of bed earlier than her, making sure his body did not make things more uncomfortable for the both of them than it had to be. 

He always had a shower first, then when she woke he would supervise her as she had a shower as well. 

She had grudgingly accepted that he would have to be there if she wanted the luxury of a clean body. He would wait for her, sitting on the toilet, supplying her with towels and clothes as she stayed behind the shower curtain, making sure she still had some form of privacy.

He had soon discovered another challenge in this arrangement. There was a window placed high on the wall in the shower cubicle, and the morning light would flood the cubicle, making it possible for him to see her silhouette against the ruffled surface of the shower curtain. He had been mesmerized when he first saw it, and had quite enjoyed the show. It only took till next time before he realised that this only increased his desire for her, making it even harder to resist her. She had become an obsession to him. Like a delectable treat kept just out of his reach. He tried to keep himself distracted, but that was nearly impossible, and he soon came to dread this morning routine, feeling his own self-control slip just a little bit every time. 

As the days went by, she became increasingly taciturn and short with him. He was quite confused by this, as they had no new fights or disagreements. Her wrists were healing well, and she seemed completely fine. He put it down to her imprisonment. There was nothing he could do about that. He tried to distract her by keeping her talking, trying to get to know her. She was not in the mood, and mostly ignored him. Eventually he let it go, leaving her in peace as he went about the daily tasks of keeping them alive. He had considered having her help with food preparations, but felt certain she would probably try and stab his eye out if she was given so much as a spoon. So he did it all himself.

A couple of days had passed where she had declined taking a shower in the morning, and he noticed she was spending more and more time in the bathroom, becoming increasingly sullen and isolated. She always came out eventually, and he figured she was just trying to avoid him. She had been in there at one point and he was making them lunch, when she came out from the bedroom. 

"Martin," she said, and he glanced up to see her as she stared at the floor, her eyebrows tucked together in a frown he couldn't read. As she glanced up at him, her face reddened, and she hastily looked down again, clearly embarrassed by something. 

"Yes?" He urged her, when she didn't say anything. 

"It's just, um," she rubbed her face wearily. 

"I have a problem," she finally said, her face gloomy. 

"Oh?" He said, encouraging her to speak. 

"My period started yesterday, and I um, I'm having trouble keeping myself clean now,"

He froze somewhat, staring at her for a long time.

"I see," he said softly. That was one thing he had not thought of when he had shopped the necessary items for them. Why hadn't she told him sooner?

"I'm sorry, I don't have any female sanitary products," he said eventually, his shoulders slumping. 

She blushed even deeper now, biting her lower lip. He sensed that she was deeply ashamed.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," he said calmly, walking around the kitchen counter to get to her. He stood right in front of her and peered into her face.

She glanced away, not able to look into his face.

"It's a natural process," he added, trying to sooth her. She was clearly agitated. 

"It's dirty," she hissed with such vehemence that he nearly stepped back from her, slightly alarmed. He stared at her blankly for a long moment. 

"Why do you say that?" He asked her, perplexed. 

"It's a filthy sin," 

"Laura," he began, feeling slightly uncomfortable now. He didn't know her much, but this didn't sound like her. It was more like she was programmed to believe the words she was saying. 

"It's not a sin to bleed. It's not something you can control." 

She scowled at the floor as he spoke, and he gingerly grabbed her chin to make her look up at him. 

"Who told you this?" He asked, frowning, feeling a nagging suspicion.

She tried to wrench free of his grasp, but he held on. She desisted, but said nothing. He kept her there, waiting. 

"My father," she finally said darkly, confirming his suspicions. 

"Your father," he repeated thoughtfully. 

She nodded, or tried at least, he was still holding on to her. 

"I take it he's religious?" He asked dryly. 

She nodded again. 

"I thought you said he was an asshole?" 

She shrugged. 

"He is," 

"Then why would you listen to him?" 

She didn't say anything. 

"Listen, I'm a doctor, and I can tell you that women bleed. It's a natural process, all part of the reproductive cycle. Your father is mistaken, it is not a sin, or dirty," he said, using an authoritative voice, trying to break through her clouded mind. 

She kept her gaze down, biting her lip. He noticed it was trembling, slightly. 

"Hey, it's okay," he said soothingly, instinctively wrapping his arms around her, holding her close. She grew rigid, and he held his breath, waiting for her to fight him off. Eventually she relaxed and he felt her trembling intensify as she sobbed quietly into his chest, her hands fisted fiercely between them. 

"Are you bleeding a lot?" He asked her gently, not letting go of her. 

She nodded hesitantly, sniffling. 

"I tried to use toilet paper, but it's not enough. I've bled through." She sounded embarrassed. 

"It's okay, we will figure something out," he said softly. 

"You should be repulsed by me," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. 

His chest felt tight at the anguish I'm her voice. 

"Are you serious? You're talking to a serial killer. If we compare crimes, then I'm afraid you lose. By a lot. Besides, as I said, bleeding is not a sin." 

She gave a weird shudder, and she pulled back somewhat to look up at him. 

Her eyes were red and swollen, still watery. The blue colour of her eyes was like the sky on a cloudless day; neverending and starkly bright. He couldn't help himself. He leaned down, ever so slowly placing his lips on hers, giving her a tender but chaste kiss. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he felt her respond, her lips moving slightly against his. He pulled back, searching her face. Then he pulled her in for another hug, his heart racing against his ribs. He had kissed her. It was far too brief and chaste, but even so. He felt elated and his head swam from the implications. 

"I will go get you something to use after lunch. I will be gone for a while, will you be okay here alone?" He asked. 

She didn't react. 

"I would hate to have to lock you up. Can I trust you?" He asked her, stroking her back soothingly. 

He waited on tenterhooks until she finally nodded. 

"Alright, let's find a solution for now," he then said, releasing her and pulling her towards the bathroom again. 

He switched on the water to fill the bathtub, adding some shower gel. The foam was hastily forming frothing across the surface of the swirling water. 

He left her there for a moment, going to search his closet for anything she could use to catch the flow. 

He found a pair of briefs. In the prison he usually used boxer shorts, but sometimes it was nice to have a little more control with things downstairs. Especially around his prisoner. These would do nicely.

He then went to the kitchen and dug out a clean cotton dish cloth. Then he went back to her, handing the items to her. 

"This can be folded several times, and should be safe and absorbent enough for a few hours. Let me know if you need another. It can be washed," he added. 

The tub was filling steadily, and he instructed her to undress and get in. Then he backed out of the room and closed the door, allowing her the privacy to change and bathe. She would be unable to lock the door, so he didn't feel too paranoid. 

Then he went to the kitchen and finished making their lunch, mumbling under his breath about inept fathers. 

He had made a couple of sandwiches filled with chicken and ham, and he went to the bathroom, knocking on the door. He heard a panicked splash behind the door. 

"I've got food for you," he said, opening the door slowly. When he peered around, he saw that she had sunk as far down beneath the water as she could without submerging her head entire. He almost smiled to himself. 

The bubbles obscured her body perfectly, and he wordlessly handed her the plate with her food. 

"Eat, and relax," he said, leaving her in peace to go eat his own food.

She was in there for a long time, probably enjoying the warmth soaking into her muscles.

Finally she came out, holding a bundle of clothes tightly in her hands. Her hair was wet and some of it clung to her throat. Her legs were bare and he realised she must have bled through her trousers as well. She was blushing fiercely as he grabbed the garments from her and went to the tiny room beside the kitchen. It was the laundry room, and he shoved the clothes inside the ancient washing machine, setting it to a cold wash. She had followed him hesitantly, and was now standing in the kitchen looking rather forlorn, her fingers twisting worriedly. The shirt she was wearing was reaching just below her hips. He gestured for her to follow him again and he found a pair of sweatpants. They were far too big for her, but she simply pulled at the strings in the waistband, binding them tightly around her hips to keep them up. 

"Are you feeling better?" He asked her finally, stepping closer to her. 

She glanced up at him and nodded silently. 

"Do you have cramps?" 

Again she nodded silently. 

"Should I try and get you some pain relief?" 

She gave him a startled look. 

"You'd do that?" She asked, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. 

"Of course," he said, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek. 

She gave him a long look, but then nodded again. 

"Yes, thank you," she said softly. 

He then went about to get ready to leave to get her the necessary items. 

"The doors are locked, and you can't get out of the windows. They are reinforced. I will be back as soon as I can. Please be good," he said as he went for the door. 

She said nothing, just watching him silently. 

He closed the door behind him, listening for the telltale sound of its electronic lock kicking in. 

Then he went to the car and drove out through the gate. 

As he drove, he pondered their kiss, feeling his heart flutter as he re-lived it in his mind. He felt certain she had returned it. His mind also lingered on her relationship with her father. He seemed to be having some very outdated ideas about women, having instilled this delusion onto his daughter. Martin sighed. He might not have been a perfect father, but at least he had never made any woman feel inferior because of the natural functions of her body. He felt like he had found the reason for why she needed him too.

He drove into a parking lot at a drugstore, checking the surroundings for a few minutes before he ventured out of the car. 

He chose a selection of products for her, and when he came to the dish, he asked for a pack of ibuprofen. The radio was playing softly in the background, and Martin distinctly heard his name as the news anchor explained the circumstances of his escape and his suspected crimes. His heart was racing, and he suddenly felt very exposed. The clerk behind the counter sullenly handed over the pain killers and took the money without a word, not even glancing at Martin's face. 

As he walked to his car, someone shouted at him, and his heart nearly stuttered to a halt. He walked a little faster, intending to reach the car unrecognised. 

Then he felt a hard blow to his head from behind and a searing pain to his shoulder. Sanitary products and pain killers scattered on the pavement as he fell forward, hitting the ground hard. He realised his mistake. His clothes represented his status. Mistake; He looked rich. 

"I said give me your money old man!" He heard someone say. The culprit was kicking him in the stomach, and his face. He thought he saw a flash of silver just before his world went dark. 

He woke shortly after, feeling a terrible pain in his upper back and upper chest. He felt a dull pounding in his stomach, his breathing constricted due to the pain. His vision was crowded with shadows and he looked around blearily, trying to gain his focus back. 

He was alone, and on the ground around him was the products he had purchased for his prisoner. His wallet was, however, missing. He tried to get up, hissing in pain as he felt pain flash through his system. He realised he was bleeding heavily from a wound on his chest. He tried to gain his bearings, and assess the damage. He spotted the car a few feet ahead, and groaning and wheezing, he crawled towards it. He had to get home. It was his only chance to survive.

* * *

Darkness had fallen and it had started raining and Laura finally heard the gate as it clanged open and she went to the window, seeing her own car slowly roll in front of the house, the headlights almost blinding her. Almost immediately she sensed something was wrong. He didn't come out of the car, and she thought she saw his head slump forward. She waited with bated breath. He killed the engine and the door opened ever so slowly. It took him several seconds to exit the vehicle, and her heart started hammering against her ribs. Something was very wrong. 

She watched as he almost fell out of the car, landing on his hands and knees. 

He slowly crawled through the mud towards the front door, his movements sluggish and painful. As he was illuminated by the headlights of the car, she saw the blood. Oh god, _the blood_! She gasped loudly and went for the door. It was locked. She couldn't get out. She ran back towards the window to watch him struggle to get inside. 

"Come on!" She hissed fiercely. 

If he died outside, she would be trapped and definitely never get out of there. She had been trying to find an escape, but he had not lied when he said that the hut was inescapable. She had tried everything, but nothing had worked. Now she stood, staring avidly at the man who had kidnapped her, hoping with her very being that he would make it. 

He reached the porch, his movements slow but fairly methodic. She could no longer see what he was doing, and she went to the door, waiting breathlessly for him to punch in the passcode. Once he did, she would grab the keys from him and drive the hell out of there.

She heard a few subdued thumps, and she grasped the door handle. 

Then, there was an electronic click, and she wrenched the door open, feeling fresh air on her face for the first time in a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts! Thank you!  
> -Pancakes


	11. Belonging To The Prisoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go with another chapter! This was more fun to write than I anticipated!   
> Fair warning; Bloody mess ahead. And mild lemons. Hope you enjoy!

Laura pulled frantically at the door, and as it swung inwards she had to step back hastily, as Martin had leaned against it, and he fell forward with a resounding crash, collapsing face down across the doorstep. She was panting loudly, her heart skipping wildly in her chest as panic rose within her. She stared down at him for a few seconds. His back was covered in blood, the crimson liquid coming from a wound high on his shoulder. His clothes soaked through from the rain, and mud smeared several places from his grueling crawl towards the house. He was unconscious and his breathing was shallow.

She then bent down and grasped the car keys from his limp hand, jumping over him and running out into the dark night, feeling the rain splash onto her face. The car door was still open, and she reached it, only slipping and sliding a few times on the way. She jumped into the car and hastily inserted the key, making it roar to life. She closed the door, and gave a fleeting look at the cabin. She could just see his body, as it lay across the threshold, the rain obscuring most of him. 

She gave herself a little shake, and jammed the car into reverse, spinning the wheels so fast, they were spinning in place for a moment before they gained traction. She turned the car around, and sped towards the still open gate. She glanced in the rearview mirror, and felt an uncertain tug at her heart. The car slowed down as she became wracked with doubt. If she left, he would die. She stopped the car, still gazing in the rear view mirror. Then she looked at her escape route. 

This was stupid! 

His death was his own damn fault! He was a murderer after all! She bit her lip, remembering how he had held her earlier, consoling her in her hour of need. She had felt so safe. In her 27 years, no man had ever held her like that. Her father had forbidden her any contact with men, and she had felt a man's touch for the first time with Martin Whitly. She wondered if it was her father’s fault that she was so starved for affection, that she would crave the touch of a serial killer. 

Martin had even kissed her. It was nothing like she had imagined. He had been so tender, she could almost doubt his true nature. It had been her first kiss too. 

She shook her head. She couldn’t leave him to die. She killed the engine and got out of the car, standing for a long moment, just staring through the rain. She was drenched to the skin within moments. She heaved a deep sigh, pondering her own sanity as she slowly trudged back towards the cabin. 

He hadn’t moved, and she leaned down over him, trying to check his breathing. 

“Martin,” She placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder. He didn’t move.

“Martin, can you hear me?” She said, trying to speak over the drizzling rain. She shook him gently, and he groaned softly, stirring slightly. She gave a relieved sigh, and began to roll him over onto his back. 

She gasped as she saw another wound in his chest. It was bleeding pretty badly. He must have lost so much blood already. His face was covered in bruises and a few scrapes as well.

“Martin, wake up, we need to get you inside!” She said loudly. 

His eyelids flickered, and he looked at her blearily. 

“I think I’ll stay here, thanks, I’m perfectly fine right here,” he murmured, his voice slurred. 

“No! We have to get you inside!” She persisted, trying to shake him again. 

He gave another groan, and sighed. 

“Come on, try and sit up,” she urged, taking his hands and trying to pull him up. 

At first he did absolutely nothing, but then he seemed to gain his bearings. With her help, he sat up, wincing and panting. 

“Good,” she said, breathlessly, coming around him, supporting his weight by wrapping her arm around his waist, to keep him from falling back down. 

“Try to stand up, I’ll assist you,” she said, gritting her teeth as she started to heave him up. He was far too heavy for her, but he scrambled to find his feet, and in unison they managed to get him upright. He leaned heavily on her, his one arm flung around her shoulders, swaying somewhat on the spot. 

“Come on,” she said, steering him inside, by propping him up on her shoulder, her hand on his chest to keep him from falling forward.

“We need to get downstairs,” he said, his voice raspy and breathless. 

She nodded and helped him towards the door that led to the room beneath the cabin. 

“What happened?” She asked as they slowly made their way through the sitting area. 

“I had gotten the supplies for you, and then someone..” he gasped painfully as he spoke.

“...Decided they wanted my wallet. I got stabbed, I think, though I’m not sure. I passed out a minute there,” 

“On the plus side, I managed to get your sanitary products. Plus Ibuprofen. I even got you some chocolate,” he said, wincing as she led him through the door and he took the first step down. 

“I need a break,” he added, panting harshly. 

“You can rest when we get there!” She hissed.

“You’re really heavy!” She added.

“That’s hardly fair,” he said.

“I do my morning workouts routinely. I can’t help that you have no muscle mass to speak of.” He groaned as they made it another couple of steps. His hand on her shoulder was grabbing her painfully. 

“I thought you were weak,”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you claimed to need a break not ten seconds ago,”

He gave her a scowl worthy of a serial killer. 

“You try to be stabbed and then do this,” he grumbled menacingly.

She gave a breathless chuckle, as she helped him down the last three steps, making him lean against the wall for a moment. They were both still wet from the rain, but their exertions had them sweating as well, and she wiped her brow on her blouse, peering intently into his face as he closed his eyes. 

“Hey!” She said, grabbing his chest to shake him. 

“You’re really bossy,” he growled, as he slowly opened his eyes to focus on the room. 

“We only need to get to the exam table, then you can rest,” she urged. 

“And demanding too,” he said, musingly. 

Nonetheless he braced against her and pushed off the wall to get to the table. She helped him to sit on it. 

“Take this off,” she said, indicating his sweater and shirt. 

“Don’t you think we should at least have dinner first?” He said, his voice sounding exhausted. 

She glared at him, and despite everything, he smirked. She helped him ease out of the wet garments, revealing his bare chest and back to her. He had large bruises on his chest and abdomen. He glanced down at his right shoulder, where the bleeding was coming from. 

“Tell me what to do,” she said, looking at him as he examined the wound, his teeth bared in discomfort. 

“Tell me what you see on my back,” he instructed. 

She went around the table and looked at the other wound. He wasn’t bleeding as much as before. 

“I think it’s a knife wound. It’s not bleeding too much though. You’ve got a lot of bruises here,” she explained. 

“Even if it’s not bleeding, it will need to be treated. Infection will set in if it is not cleaned. This one on the front may need stitching as well, as it is still bleeding.” She came around his front and stared at him. 

“What do you need?” She asked softly. 

“Should I try and get an ambulance?” She asked. 

“No. Even if we did have a phone, I would not like to go back where I came from. I’d rather bleed out slowly,” he said, gritting his teeth. 

“That is probably what is going to happen, who am I kidding?” He added in an undertone, as he examined the wound on his shoulder again.

She scowled and turned away to look at the different cabinets lining the two walls. They all had passcode protection. 

“What’s the passcode?” She asked, walking to the cabinet furthest from him. 

“I’m not telling you,” he said, watching her as she grabbed at the handles. They didn’t budge. 

She rounded on him. 

“Are you serious?! Why the hell not?” She spat. 

“Because, there’s medical equipment, scalpels and other such dangerous items. I don’t fancy another wound, thank you very much.” As he spoke he gave a sibilant hiss, as pain flared in his injured shoulder. 

“I’m trying to help you!” She said loudly, walking back to him. 

He gave her a dubious look. 

“Listen,” she began, trying to keep calm. 

“I could have left you for dead on that doorstep!” She pointed upwards, indicating the place he had collapsed. 

“I can still leave!” She added. 

“You would be helpless to stop me.” Suddenly he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, their faces close. 

“Don’t think that I’m not still stronger than you, miss Wright,” he warned, his cold fingers holding onto her. She could see beads of sweat as they formed on his forehead. His breathing was far too laboured for someone sitting down. 

“Let me help you,” she pleaded, not even trying to get loose. 

“I can’t trust you,” he said softly. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” She countered. 

He closed his eyes, a flash of pain apparently shooting through him again. A long silence bloomed between them, as he seemed to ponder his situation. Then his eyes snapped open.

“One, nine, eight, eight, one, nine, nine, two.” He finally said, speaking through gritted teeth, simultaneously releasing her. 

She spun and went for the first cabinet to punch in the code. 

“Not that,” he said hastily. 

“You need the third from the left and the one on the right. You also need the top three drawers,” he added. 

She was silent as she searched the contents. 

“You need gauze and tape. And you need to apply alcohol to avoid infections. But first you need to wipe as much blood as you can from the surrounding skin.” She hastily obeyed and came back to him with a bottle of said liquid and the other necessary items. She mopped his shoulder gently, and then his back. 

“This one has stopped bleeding,” she noted as she worked.

“That’s lucky. It means it’s a shallow wound, and no major arteries were hit,” he commented as he endured the brunt of her touch. 

“Okay, now what?” she asked as she threw the bloody paper in the trash can.

“Get the alcohol,” he said, adjusting his position so that he could lie down on his stomach. 

“You need to pour it on the wounds,” he said. He had suddenly grown pale, the movement jarring his wounds. 

He gave a deep groan as he tried to relax. She hesitated, knowing this would be extremely painful for him.

“Go,” he said, his fingers clutching the edges of the exam table. 

She sighed and poured the alcohol into the wound on his back. His entire frame jolted, as the pain flared violently. He gave a strangled scream, his back arching upwards in an attempt to ward off the pain. 

“I’m sorry!” She said desperately, unable to feel guilty as he thrashed beneath her ministrations. 

It took a long time for the burning to desist, and once it did he was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. 

“Ow,” he said finally. 

She waited. 

“Is it bleeding again?” He asked.

“Not much,” she answered. 

“Good, now you need to dress the wound. Get the gauze and tape,” he explained. 

It wasn’t long before she had managed to bandage his shoulder, shielding the wound from dirt. She had to dry him off, because his sweat had made it impossible for the tape to adhere to his skin. He slowly turned over onto his back. 

“Now we need to do the same for this one,” he said, gritting his teeth again. 

She repeated the process of cleaning the wound, and he fought to not outright scream as she applied the alcohol. Blood kept seeping out no matter how many times she wiped it away. 

“It will need stitches,” he commented, as he watched her work. 

“There are sutures in the second drawer,” he nodded towards it. 

She went to get it and handed it to him. He shook his head slowly.

“You need to do it,” he said. 

“What?!” She gasped, panic in her voice. 

“It’s okay,” he said, trying to sound calm. 

“Just imagine that you’re sewing a pocket together,” he added. 

She gulped. 

“It’s easier than you think. Come on, let’s get to work,” he said, gesturing for her to move closer. 

She edged forward, her hands trembling. 

“Now we’ll have none of that. Come on, I’ll talk you through it,” He said reassuringly. 

She was right beside him now, and he settled down, giving her plenty of room to work. 

She followed his instructions, and did her best to cause as little pain as possible. Even so he was groaning and growling as she punctured his skin over and over. Fifteen minutes later she had produced three stitches across his skin. He looked down at her handiwork. 

“Will you look at that. You’re a natural,” he said softly. 

She had leaned down to look at the result, and at his words she glanced up, their faces only an inch apart. 

“Well done, miss Wright,” he said, gently. 

She didn’t speak, but glanced at his mouth as he spoke. 

Then she leaned in further, slowly closing the distance between them, placing her lips on his. He placed his fingers in her hair as they kissed. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue across her lips, tickling her and making her gasp softly, her lips parting to allow him entrance. He gave a satisfied growl, sliding his tongue along hers, trying to taste her as much as possible. He pulled her closer, and she placed her hands on his bare chest to stabilise herself as she climbed onto the exam table with him, straddling his hips. He slid his hands down her back and cupped her ass, greedily trying to reach every part of her body. He felt an insistent erection pressing against his trousers and he rocked his pelvis up into her, pressing into her core. Her body lurched as he hit a sweet spot, and she froze mid kiss. 

“Sorry,” he said, breathlessly, their lips only a hairbreadth apart. 

She looked uncertainly at him for a long moment, and then slowly crawled down from his lap. He had a few cuts and scrapes on his face and she got some gauze and alcohol to clean them as well, earning another dissatisfied hiss from him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of experimenting with some GIFs in this story (from the next chapter). Would that be something anyone would be interested in? It might get very much NSFW, just FYI.   
> Let me know in the comments!   
> And thank you for reading!   
> -Pancakes


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